A Long Day
by midfielder
Summary: I’m not exactly up-to-date with the episodes but heard about Chloe’s impending marriage to Jimmy. So consider this my last ditch attempt to get Chloe and Clark together. Even if only in fanficdom. Premise: a bit into the future; the wedding doesn’t happen
1. Chapter 1

A Long Day

_______

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She sighs audibly and bits her lip, physically resisting the impulse to comment.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

But it's been an exceptionally trying and tiring week.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

For Chloe Sullivan, chasing after bad guys is a pretty staple fare for a day in a life of a hardcore reporter like her. It usually includes a bit of roughing up, which occasionally has left her sincerely fearing, if not for her life, for her loved ones' well-being.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

But the week has had her figuratively keeling over the ropes and just about ready to throw in the towel. There's sheer physical exhaustion: being locked up in a literal cage for hours; being dangled upside down to the point of total lower-extremities-numbness; narrowly escaping a bullet to the head which, thankfully, only grazed her ear. And even after months of damage control and soul-searching, there are still the emotional aftereffects of calling off the wedding, and the mourning for the casualties of relationships which it had laid to utter waste in its wake. So, yeah, at the moment, she is unrepentant that she can't muster the energy for patience even for something as trivial as this, even for someone as important to her as…

"Clark!" She shouts, her voice ringing through the by-now empty office.

"Huh?"

She breathes out, relieved; at least the outburst got him to stop drumming that blasted pen on his desk. Her irritation further loses its edge when she sees his genuinely clueless and patently handsome face, a face that always had the uncanny effect to distract.

"Look, Kent, I appreciate your gesture of solidarity by staying with me as I finish up here. But it's time unwisely spent," she says, even as she goes back to typing.

He only smiles, eye brows shooting up. "It's fine. I _want_ to stay." As if to make his point, he leans his back to his swivel chair, getting himself comfortable.

"It's Friday night. Don't you have any innocent bystander to save?"

"I'm taking the night off."

"Well, that's good, God knows you earned it," she replies, her tone now more conversational. "But shouldn't you put it to better use, though, instead of moping around here? I mean, c'mon, night-offs are a rarity for you. You should go out and have fun."

"Who says I'm not?"

"Oh yeah, and I'm having fun watching the cursor blink on the computer screen. I didn't know we had so much in common, Clark," she deadpans, with the rolling of eyes to boot.

"Well…," he drags out the syllable long enough for his nervousness to show if she wasn't too busy typing away at the computer, "I was hoping to take you out to dinner. Just the two of us."

"After you've finished with what you're doing, that is," he immediately adds, trying to stamp down the implications of what he'd just said. Whether she caught on, he can't be sure. Her unpredictability has thrown him off more times than he can count.

"Yeah?" Her eyes darts to him and back to the computer screen.

"Yeah." He breathes out. It's possible that's he's never been so anxious in his life. And that's saying something, considering he's the undisputed King of Jitters, seated on the throne of Awkward.

"What's the occasion?"

"Nothing, really. Just want to hang out." That's as neutral and casual as he can make his voice to be.

She narrows her eyes at him, and the makings of a smile tug at her lips. She can't decide whether to be suspicious or just happy that he wants to spend time with her. Happiness trounces suspicion and she smiles. He smiles, too, but mostly to cover up how terrified he is. _Suck it up, Clark. You're the one who made it this hard and waited this long._

"Does it bother you?"

"Does it bother me what?" She doesn't look up from the computer, and the lack of eye contact oddly makes him bold.

"That I'm taking you to dinner."

"Hey, good company, free food? What's there to be bothered about?," she lets out a carefree laugh.

"So I guess it's safe to say you won't mind if we make it a regular thing?" He straightens up a little on his seat and plants his elbows on the desk. "Nothing better than free food, right?"

"I guess, but it depends on what you mean by regular. I don't have a social life to speak of as it is, you know."

"Like everyday-regular."

"Hmmmm…," she bites her lips and makes a show of thinking over it. "Will I get a say on what restaurant we eat in?"

"If you let me take you home afterwards, yes."

"My very own personal bodyguard; who's complaining? Actually, that's one of the things I like about your hero complex."

He frowns at that. "And what things don't you like about it?"

"Nice try. Not going there, though. Let's not spoil our appetite, shall we?"

He makes a mental note to follow that line of conversation eventually but resolves, in the meantime, to stay on topic.

"So, that's it then. We'll get together for dinner from now on. And then we can even go shopping after, if you'd like. I'm not particularly fond of it but what the heck, I've come across intergalactic super beings and meteor freaks. I'm sure I'm tougher than salesclerks. Or if you want, we can go for a movie. Nothing like a few hours of escapism and..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, farmboy!" She pushes herself from the desk and finally faces him.

"Ok," he says, as his Adam's apple bobbed up then down his throat. He didn't think he'll be let off that easily, anyway.

"What is with you?" She looks worried and he half-expected for her to check his head for any bumps or possible concussion.

"What?" He realizes he's just futilely fending off the inevitable. 

"Okay, I think I know what this is about."

"You know?," he looks at her quizzically, as he takes a big gulp of air.

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist, Clark. You're my best friend. And it's not that I don't appreciate you wanting to spend time with me...," she stands, goes around the table, partially rests her weight on it and angles her body towards his desk and stares at him in all seriousness. "But you do realize that what you just said is borderline ridiculous and insane, right? I know I may seem a bit off lately, with the whole non-wedding fiasco and the pressure at work, but you don't need to treat me to dinner everyday just to cheer me up."

Usually, this is as far as where his courage could carry him. This is the point where he would have conceded, saying yes, that's it: I want to take you to dinner; hold your purse and bags for you while you shop; go to a romance-comedy movie with you and put my arms over your shoulders or hold your hand because I want to comfort you since you cancelled your wedding with Jimmy, which effectively crushed his heart and perhaps fatally chipped yours. And I'd chalk it all up to trying to be the best friend you need.

"No, that's not it." Whew, at least he got over that hurdle.

"Really, now?" There's a lilt in her voice that could only be construed as taunting.

"Chlo, I've seen you weather bigger storms than a foiled wedding and some overdue articles. Believe me, this isn't about cheering you up."

"Okay, I'll bite. What is it, then?" She crosses her arms over her chest. It doesn't escape him that she's wearing a smug expression.

He breathes in, and "Ilikebeingaroundyou," breathes out.

A solemn moment of silence passes, which makes the laughter following it especially sacrilegious and insulting. Can he just kiss her now and get it over with?

"Okay, okay." She tries but fails to compose herself and laughs some more.

"Sorry, sorry, okay. Whew. That's...wow, thanks for that. You know, with all the tension and..."

"Chloe! I think you're missing the point here."

"No, Clark, I got it. You want to hang out. So, let's hang out. But I warn you, I don't think you realize the full implications of you offering to be my shopping buddy. You said you like being around me. That, however, requires a whole new level of liking!" She gesticulates animatedly and finds all the right cues to laugh.

"Exactly." This is the only time he has taken pleasure in wiping the smile off her face.

----


	2. Chapter 2

"That was…," he tries to find an appropriately neutral word, "interesting." He catches up to her in a few strides and walks past her, just enough to be able to push the exit door open for her.

She nods to him and smiles in thanks for the decidedly gentlemanly gesture, which she has decided, long ago, to be something that comes naturally for him. "Yeah?," she laughs, unconvinced, "I didn't know vampires fell under your category of interesting."

"Need I remind you, Chloe Sullivan, that _you_ picked the movie?" He eyes her teasingly, pursing his lips, as she moves past him. He follows her shortly, the door closing behind him.

"I didn't disagree with you, did I?, she counters, as she tilts her chin up challengingly at him, "just didn't take you for someone who'd find the idea of vampire romance…well, interesting."

"Care to share your psychoanalysis of my comment?" He smiles good-naturedly as they come to a halt at the corridor, now standing face to face.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare." She feigns shock and they laugh.

There's a brief break in the conversation as they ready themselves for the cold before going outside of the movie house, tugging their coats and zipping them up to their necks.

"Sorry you didn't like the film. From now on, I'll be the one to pick the movie." He has a ridiculously pestering grin on his face. "I'm going to make it up to you at dinner though. Pasta at Nick's." He makes a move to open the door for her again, but she beats him to it.

"I like the movie, Clark, even without the pasta bribe." She rolls her eyes in irritation but then smiles.

She's first to step on the pavement, her whole person quickly enveloped by the pre-Christmas chill.

"Admit it," he says, restarting their line of chatter as soon as he's shoulder to shoulder with her, "You were bored. C'mon, Chlo, I won't mind. At least now I'll know what you'd like to see when we go out again. Something with guns and car chases, right?"

It doesn't escape Chloe that that's the second time he has alluded to his intention of taking her out again. She's starting to think, but not entirely believe, that he just might be serious about this. She follows him when he takes the lead in crossing the street, heading to Nick's which was three blocks-worth of walking.

"What makes you so sure I don't like it? I haven't even made one little negative comment about it!," she says, rubbing her hands together.

"Proof that you don't like it. If you enjoyed it, you would rant, rave, or both…but you won't keep quiet about it."

She stops her furious hand-rubbing and gawks at him in sincere annoyance now.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," his mood seemed awfully bouncy, as he hopped over the canal, "it's not my fault we've known each other this long."

"Yes, I admit, I share some of the blame." She couldn't help but smile at that.

"Give me your hands." She holds them out, curious as to what he'd do, and he takes them, his large palms clasping her comparatively tiny ones. She's cold and he's so warm she figures it's just beneficial for her to play along.

A beat passes, with him and her looking at their entwined hands. She fends off the awkwardness by filling the moment with words, "Look, I adored the book when I read it years back."

He looks up at her then with an expectant gaze. "And I would've adored the movie too if it was shown back then. But Hollywood's three years late."

"…back then? What's changed?"

"Oh so who's doing the psychoanalysis now?"

He doesn't respond and instead resumes their walk, letting go of her left hand but apparently deciding to keep the other. Chloe is nervous now, making sideway glances at him as she attempts to figure out what's really going on in that pretty-on-the-outside but terribly convoluted-in-the-inside head of his. This a little out of the friendship border she and Kent has set up. _Could he actually mean what…No, don't overanalyze this the way you have all those years_, she resolves, biting her lips. _A lot has changed. You have changed. _

"Well, I guess," she tries to get back to her previous line of thought, "the ultimately masochistic plotline of a vampire-human relationship has lost its appeal to me over the years. I empathize with Bella, more than you can imagine…"

"Who?" It appears he's been lost in his own world of thoughts, too.

"Bella, the woman who falls in love with the vampire? Clark, she's one of the two main characters. You know the one who almost got sucked dry by the bad but cute and incredibly buff vampire?," she elaborates with an increasingly sarcastic tone.

"Yeah, of course I know her. The name just didn't stick."

"Anyway, I just think Edward, the good vampire,…"

"Yeah, I know who Edward is, Chlo…"

"…just checking," he does his best to create an impression of rolling his eyes, "Well, he should've just made her into a vampire when she asked him to in the end. His rejection of her request will just bring about an endless and needless supply of angst. And God knows I have enough of that already without bringing two fictional characters into the heap of mess that is my psyche."

"You make it sound so easy." She might have detected a faint hint of resentment there.

"It's because it is."

"It's not as black and white as that, Chlo. You should know that; you're one of the grayest people I know," she snorts at that, but he continues, "He wants her to enjoy her life, a normal life."

Boy, this is turning out to be one of the longest walk she has taken in recent memory. Only one more block to go!

"Okay, I'm all for gray, Clark. But don't you think that Bella should be able to make that choice for herself? She made it unequivocally clear that a life _with him_ beats having a _normal_ life."

"She's what…seventeen? She hasn't lived long enough to know what "normal" is to be able to reject life with humans like that. The same way she doesn't have the whole picture of what "not normal" is to be able to accept Edward's life so easily. He's afraid that by bringing her into his world, a process which is irreversible, that she'd eventually regret it." They seem to reach an impasse at that point.

But she's still looking at him intently and he thinks she's about to say something. But she only smiles, a wide and knowing smile that, while utterly attractive to him, is also getting him a bit uneasy.

"What?," he blurts out rather awkwardly.

"Nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" He finds his lips involuntarily quirking into a smile.

"You're getting all worked up by a movie, a romance at that," she almost snickers.

"But as revealing as it has been, I refuse to get into a fight with you over this." She makes him let go of her hand, which visibly puzzles him for a moment.

He sees the pasta house nearing, and he smiles in understanding. "A little debate is healthy for our relationship, you know," he calls out, as she goes ahead of him, eager to get inside and get relief from the cold.

The way he said word relationship gave her goosebumps, which she vaguely recognized as the it-that-shall-not-be-named feelings, but ultimately attributed to the weather. While she has learned to control her thoughts, she couldn't quite control the flush to her cheeks. "Yeah, I guess, especially if I'm right. I hate to spoil it for you, but Bella eventually gets her wish in book 3, I think," she banters back, trying to shake of the it-that-shall-not-be-named thoughts.

The glass door is opened from the inside by a restaurant personnel, to which he surrenders the reservation stubs, and they are guided through a place full of regular patrons. "There's book 3?," he says trailing behind her.

"And book 4. It's a happy ending, Clark. Sorry to burst your gray bubble but the dark side wins!," she says, looking over her shoulder to him.

The distance between them she miscalculates and her looking over to him confirms this as she finds her cheek almost touching his suit-covered chest, giving her an eye-crossing close up of his pronounced collarbone, and a whiff of a distinctly unidentifiable but nonetheless, manly scent that is Clark Kent. "I don't recall ever saying that I didn't want them together," he says, or maybe whispers, which is enough to trigger her flight mode.

Good thing she still has quick reflexes; she's gained some distance before she could embarrass herself in entertaining you-know-what thoughts again. "Oh in so many words…" They finally arrive at their table in the quieter portion of the restaurant.

"No, well,…", she makes a move to her seat but he's already pulled out the chair, "...maybe I didn't get the words out right but what I meant was that if you think about it, the vampire…"

"Edward," she interjects.

"…was entitled to his fears."

He goes around and seats himself across her, "But that doesn't mean he won't get over them eventually, right?"

It's only when he gets himself settled that he reads the testy and genuinely pointed expression on her face.

"And by what karmic principle, Kent, do you think it's fair to make her wait that long?"


End file.
